


A Blue Christmas Without You

by gluupor



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Christmas Party, Dramatic Andrew, M/M, Post-Canon, Secret Santa, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluupor/pseuds/gluupor
Summary: Andrew has gotten used to the Foxes' yearly Christmas party. He's resigned himself to wearing a stupid sweater, he doesn't mind having to find a thoughtful gift for one of these people, and he approves of the alcohol.What he's not fine with is having to attend alone.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 51
Kudos: 799
Collections: AFTG Exchange Winter 2019





	A Blue Christmas Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thematicallycoherent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thematicallycoherent/gifts).



> This is my AFTG winter exchange fic for @thematicallycoherent. They asked for mistletoe, getting snowed in, ugly Christmas sweaters, and Secret Santa. I think I hit all of them; I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you very much to the wonderful Raelle who read this over for me and helped me out with the tags and the summary, and to Anna, jem, djhedy, and cherry who offered helpful suggestions for the gifts.

Andrew steels himself before he hits Boyd’s buzzer, feeling oddly self-conscious. He knows he’s welcome and expected but he feels like an intruder anyway. Boyd greets him cheerfully enough, his eyes only briefly flickering to the empty space at Andrew’s side that they’re all accustomed to being filled by a red-headed loudmouth.

After shucking his coat and boots in the overflowing closet, Andrew gets himself a drink and takes up a post against the wall, surveying his surroundings. The others know him well enough to leave him be, giving him time to acclimate before trying to draw him into conversation. Kevin’s the only one who would possibly bother him, but Kevin hasn’t arrived yet (Andrew suspects it must be Thea’s influence; Kevin’s always been stupidly punctual, his years of Ravens practices leaving their mark).

He takes a sip of his drink before raising his eyebrows and looking at it appraisingly. Reynolds must be in charge of making the eggnog; it’s more rum than anything else. Andrew approves. If he has to attend a party and be social he’d better be well-rewarded with alcohol. Especially since he’s without the incentive that’s been getting him to come to these things for the past five years.

It’s the Foxes Fifth Annual Christmas party. Only the original Foxes (plus their significant others) are invited: the nine of them who won the championship Andrew’s sophomore year. Of course, only eight of them are attending this year and Andrew’s attending alone for the first time.

It started Andrew’s third year, organized mainly by Wilds. She’d wanted to start a yearly get together that would last past her graduation. Andrew hadn’t minded at the time; it was a nice distraction from remembering his previous Christmas holiday.

Honestly, Andrew secretly looks forward to these Christmas parties. Growing up, he’d never lived with one family long enough to be included in their traditions. He likes the certainty: every December will find him gathering together with the few people in the world he cares about (and several acquaintances he tolerates) to drink and exchange gifts and compete to see who can find the ugliest holiday sweater.

Bee knitted him the sweater he’s wearing this year; she’s always been inordinately amused by the whole idea. The first year Neil asked him to wear a holiday sweater he refused to wear anything that wasn’t black, thinking himself clever for getting out of having to participate. Yet Neil had somehow managed to find a black sweater with a skull and crossbones wearing a santa hat. Andrew ended up liking that sweater, except the wool was too scratchy. It left an itchy patch on his neck—which Neil had later kissed better up on the roof. He shuts down that memory; he doesn’t want to think about Neil now that he’s been abandoned by him.

Nicky’s the first one to break into Andrew’s solitude. He’s missed the last two parties, not being able to fly in from Germany, but he and Erik are spending the whole month of December in the States this year. Nicky’s wearing a sweater that says FRUIT CAKE in colourful letters and features a large picture of a fruit cake over his belly. Erik’s is slightly more subdued as it’s a rainbow-clad Santa.

“Andrew!” greets Nicky, coming in for a hug before thinking better of it. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come, after we heard about Neil…” he trails off. “I like your sweater!” he rallies.

Andrew’s sweater is white with green arms. Pictured on the torso is the body of an elf, complete with striped stockings and curled-toe shoes. He’s already taken a selfie for Bee; she was pleased.

The first year he wore a non-black holiday sweater almost everyone commented on it. He watched them falter as he didn’t respond to their teasing, find it vaguely amusing to maintain his completely deadpan expression while wearing something that literally glowed. Now they all know better than to expect him to be embarrassed or show any reaction at all.

Nicky chatters at him for a bit, not waiting for his participation. Andrew interjects a couple questions and answers some of Nicky’s but mostly keeps his silence. Even though Nicky still Skypes him at least once a month, it’s not the same as being in his presence regularly. He finds that he misses his prattle from time to time. Living alone can sometimes get too quiet, even for him.

After Nicky wanders away, Andrew heads to get another drink, this time opting for mulled cider. Unfortunately, Kevin’s arrived in the interim and corners him as he’s pouring his drink. His sweater, predictably, features the logo of his pro team.

“You’re getting sloppy on your left side,” is the first thing Kevin says to him, despite—or maybe because—they haven’t spoken in a couple months. “I watched your game last night and sent you a couple pointers. You never answer my texts,” he complains.

“I don’t read your texts,” says Andrew. He deletes them sight unseen; he doesn’t miss being in physical proximity with Kevin where he could verbally tell Andrew all his thoughts and criticisms after every game. He prefers having most of the continent between them.

“Do you at least listen to Neil? I could give him messages to pass on to you.”

Andrew gives him a flat look.

Kevin blanches in realization, which is remarkably self-aware for him. “Would you read my emails?” he flounders.

“No talking about exy,” says Thea, sidling up behind him. “We agreed.”

“But—”

“No,” repeats Thea, and Kevin slumps.

Andrew nods at her in appreciation—he really does like her ability to completely control Kevin and shut him down—and removes himself from their vicinity. He tracks down Aaron, who’s leaning against a wall by himself, out of the thick of things. His sweater matches Katelyn’s; they’re both science-themed with beakers and test tubes and Christmas lights.

Andrew leans on the wall next to him.

They don’t talk that often, but they don’t need to. They came to an understanding long before they finished college.

“School?” Andrew asks.

“Death,” answers Aaron. He’s deep in his second year of medical school. “Exy?”

“Boring.” Playing pro isn’t all that bad, actually, but he’s not about to admit that.

Aaron nods and they spend the next half hour in silence. Andrew doesn’t ask after Katelyn. Aaron doesn’t mention Neil.

“Okay,” says Wilds, calling the attention of everyone in the room. She and Boyd both have cartoon reindeer on their sweaters; hers is Rudolph and has a red light for his nose. “We’re all here except for, well…” she grimaces and sends Andrew an apologetic glance, “so it’s time to exchange the Secret Santa gifts. And whoever has Neil can just… give it to him later.”

Andrew retrieves his gift from where he stashed it earlier, shoving it at Renee.

“Happy Christmas,” he says gruffly.

She grins at him in return, the silver tinsel making up the halo of the ugly angel on her soft-looking grey sweater reflecting the overhead light into his eyes. Her hands are deft as she unwraps his present; he actually put in a lot of thought into what to get her and he’s satisfied with what he eventually decided. It’s a set of butterfly knives, pastel coloured to match her preferred hair highlights.

Renee’s eyes glow with happiness as she takes in her gift. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “I love them.”

“Good.”

“Are you in town for long?”

“The next three days,” he replies. He and Neil had booked the hotel room months ago, as soon as it was decided that Boyd was hosting this year's Christmas party. He has four days until practice starts up again and had originally been planning on spending the time with Neil. Obviously, that’s not going to happen now.

“We should get together; I don’t go back to New York until Tuesday.”

“I’ll text you,” he tells her.

Reynolds approaches, clutching an immaculately wrapped gift. “Here you go, Monster,” she says, carelessly passing it to him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t trade with someone so you wouldn’t have to buy for me,” he says.

“So am I,” she replies haughtily.

He unwraps the present carefully; it’s very soft and feels like fabric, which leaves him wary. He never lets other people buy clothing for him, with the exception of his Christmas sweaters because the point of those is to look terrible. Otherwise, he spent far too long wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs to trust other people to buy things that both fit him and his style.

He’s right that it’s clothing; it’s a fitted, cashmere sweater that’s so deep purple it’s almost black. Somehow Reynolds has bought the correct size, but more than that the sleeves are the correct length for him. Off the shelf clothing is never able to fit both his chest and shoulders _and_ not have sleeves that hang past his hands. Clothing is Allison’s forte, so he shouldn’t be surprised, but this is more thoughtful than he would have expected from her. It’s also clearly more expensive than their $100 spending limit.

He runs his hand along the fabric, revelling in the softness. He looks up and nods once in thanks to Reynolds, who smirks smugly in return. He’ll let her have her smugness as long as he gets to keep the gift.

“What’s this?” asks Aaron in annoyance from across the room. Andrew turns to see what’s upset him. He’s holding a coffee mug festooned with the mascot of Kevin’s team.

Kevin crosses his arms petulantly. “It’s a perfectly serviceable gift.”

“Kevin,” sighs Wilds, “we decided that gifts should be at least fifty dollars this year.”

“I thought it was five,” defends Kevin.

“You got paid _five million dollars_ for playing stickball last year!” Aaron half-shouts.

The doorbell rings, tearing Andrew’s attention from the argument. Everyone who is supposed to be here is already here and the food’s already been delivered; they’re not expecting anyone else.

Boyd heads over to answer the door, squealing “Neil!” in excitement as soon as he throws it open. “I thought you couldn’t make it!” He drags Neil inside and envelops him in a hug.

Andrew backs off as the others rush forward to greet Neil, helping himself to another drink and propping himself against the doorway to the kitchen. Neil’s face is flushed with cold, his cheeks almost the same colour as his bright red foxed-themed Christmas sweater that clashes horribly with his hair. He greets the others, talking animatedly.

Andrew watches as he glances around, his shoulders relaxing as soon as he catches sight of him. He moves into the room, handing over his (badly wrapped, he basically taped some newspaper together) Secret Santa gift to Boyd and accepting his own gift. He chats with everyone before heading over to stand near Andrew.

“Hey,” he says, aiming for nonchalant.

“You said you couldn’t come,” accuses Andrew. “You told me you were snowed in.”

“I was; fucking Boston,” gripes Neil. “The story of how I got here involves carpools with strangers, buses full of plague-ridden children, and hitchhiking. You won’t like it.”

“You didn’t text to say you were on your way.”

“Of course I didn’t,” says Neil. “What if I still didn’t make it on time? I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Plus, I knew you’d enjoy being all dramatic in your head about how I’d so cruelly abandoned you.”

Andrew averts his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmhm,” says Neil, stealing his drink and taking a sip. His eyes bug out. “Strong,” he chokes. “Allison made it?” He looks over the rest of the room, his eyes warm as he takes in his chosen family.

Andrew clears his throat pointedly. Neil starts and glances at him questioningly. Andrew lets his eyes shift upward before looking back at Neil expectantly.

Neil follows his gaze and huffs a laugh. “Really?” he says. “Mistletoe? Didn’t you once call it a meaningless parasite?”

Andrew reaches out to grip Neil’s sweater and tug him closer.

“In fact,” continues Neil, “I’m pretty sure you compared _me_ to mistletoe.”

Andrew kisses the smile from his face, not caring that there are other people in the room. It took him years to feel comfortable showing his affection for Neil to others and he still won’t do it in front of people he doesn’t trust. He knows the people here would never use this vulnerability against him.

“Hi,” says Neil, grinning dopily. “I missed you.”

It’s been hard, the past year and a half, living in different cities, but they’re making it work. Andrew had been incredibly disappointed when Neil called to say he was snowed in and couldn’t make it in time for the party; now they have the next three days and four nights to spend together. He intends to make the time count.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits in an undertone. “It didn’t feel like Christmas without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr [@gluupor](http://gluupor.tumblr.com).


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